Come Up for Air
by katierosefun
Summary: Peter's surprised with a trip to the beach from Tony Stark. Things don't go quite as planned. [Takes place shortly after Spider-Man: Homecoming.]


"Bye, Queens!" Peter waved a hand at the retreating city. "Bye, New York!" He zoomed his camera lens into the fading skyscrapers, the distant helicopters, the rows of yellow taxis still streaming beside the streets, even as Happy drove away from the city. "See you in a few days!"

"Do you have to keep that camera going?" Happy asked tiredly from the front seat.

Peter turned the camera around to the back of Happy's head. He managed to catch Happy's eyes in the mirror, and when realizing he was being filmed, the driver quickly averted his eyes back to the road. "At least turn that thing back to the windows," Happy muttered, but there wasn't any malice in his voice, just wariness.

"Sure thing," Peter said cheerfully, turning his camera back to out the window. "But where are we going again?"

"Mr. Stark told me you'll find out later."

Peter turned off his camera and turned to the back of Happy's head. "So…a surprise?"

"He told me you'll find out later," Happy repeated.

"So a surprise," Peter affirmed, falling back in his seat. Then, he sat up. "Wait, is this another mission?"

"_Later_," came Happy's response.

Peter leaned forward in his seat, his mind already racing with the possibilities of the end of this trip. Was everything okay? Was there something wrong? The last time Peter had seen Tony was just last weekend, when they were making some re-adjustments to the suit, and Tony had seemed fine then. If anything, Tony had seemed more relaxed than he had been in a long time.

"Good job, kid," Tony had said, patting Peter once on the back. And Peter hadn't been able to keep the grin off his face when he looked back up at Tony. Even though it had been several months since Germany and the Vulture, Peter's brain still reeled whenever he was in the same room as Tony. Or, to be more specific, a part of Peter's brain still reeled at the fact that the same Tony Stark who went around in his Iron Man suit and held press conferences was the same Tony Stark who liked to wear t-shirts and order takeout at three in the morning during late-night lab sessions.

"Is Mr. Stark okay?" Peter blurted, edging up to the glass separating himself from Happy.

"_Calm down,_" Happy said, exasperated. "Everything's _fine_." He gestured at the road. "We're almost there, so you can ask Mr. Stark all you want when you see him, alright?" Peter didn't miss the impatient edge in Happy's voice, so he only gave a quick nod before settling back into his seat.

Sure enough, the city had long since faded from view, and now there was nothing but endless trees and road both around and ahead. Peter stashed the camera back into his bag and took to watching the trees pass by. His leg kept bouncing up and down and up and down and up and down and not for the first time, Peter was glad Happy didn't have the same senses as Peter did, otherwise he was pretty sure the driver would have told him to knock it off.

When the first flash of the Avengers headquarters glinted in the sun, Peter sat bolt upright again. As the car neared, Peter could make out something else near the headquarters—not a car or a truck, but something a bit larger and…

"Are we going in the jet?" Peter asked, once more edged up to the glass.

This time, Happy didn't sound exasperated or impatient. "Yeah," he replied. "Mr. Stark's already waiting for you in there."

"Where are we going? Are we going to Germany again?" Peter couldn't help himself.

"You'll find out." Happy stopped the car. "Come on."

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Peter headed out of the car and walked alongside Happy. "Are you sure this isn't a mission?" Peter asked. "Why do we need the jet?" He followed Happy up the stairs to the jet. "Are we going somewhere really far? Does Mr. Stark—"

"He's here," Happy said loudly, interrupting Peter's question.

"I could hear him."

Peter looked up to find Tony standing, sure enough, at the top of the stairs of the jet. Arms crossed, sunglasses perched at the bridge of his nose, and a slight smirk on his face, Tony asked, "Did he at least breathe?"

"Couldn't tell," Happy replied. He looked down at Peter, who only now started to smile guiltily. "Anyways, he's all yours now, Mr. Stark."

"Thanks, Hap," Tony said and with a quick gesture of his hand, added, "C'mon, kid."

Re-adjusting the straps of his bag, Peter edged around Happy and started into the jet. "Wait, isn't Happy—"

"He's on vacation," Tony said over his shoulder, already retreating into the jet. "Technically, his vacation started this morning."

Peter whirled around to Happy, who was starting to go back down the steps of the jet. "Oh," he only said. Then, after a beat of silence, "Thanks for picking me up on your vacation, Happy."

"Yeah, yeah, kid," Happy said, waving a hand over his shoulder, but Peter was pretty sure he heard a smile somewhere in that voice. His own smile edging into his face, Peter turned back to the jet and trailed after Tony.

"So where are we going?" Peter asked, plunking down in a seat across from Tony. "Are we beating up some more bad guys?"

"Not quite," Tony replied and looked at Peter over his sunglasses. "Heard finals are almost done for you. How were they?"

Peter blinked. This wasn't where he had anticipated the conversation going, but he managed a quick nod. "They were fine," he replied. "I mean, kind of a pain because we have three hours to complete the test, and you have to stay for at least two of those hours even if you're done early." He paused. "What do finals have to do with anything?"

"Just for Pepper's ease of mind," Tony replied. "She didn't want you to feel like you had to study over break."

"Oh, no problem—wait, what do you mean by _break_?"

Tony pushed his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Guess you'll just have to find out," he said airily.

Peter jerked awake at the scrape of the jet's wheels against pavement. For a disorienting second, Peter didn't know where he was—but then he felt the leather of the seat, and when he lifted his body, a heavy jacket slid off his chest. Peter caught the jacket right before it hit the floor and slowly looked up, taking in his surroundings.

Jet.

Stark.

Break?

"Good, you're awake."

Peter whirled around. A jacketless Tony leaned against one of the seats, sunglasses clipped to the front of his shirt. For the first time since coming on the jet, Peter noticed the dark half-moons under Tony's eyes. "Mr. Stark—" he began, but he stopped himself. He'd seen Tony tired before. This wasn't anything new. At least, Peter told himself that as he stood up from the seat. "Are we…here?"

"No, this is just a random stop," Tony said. When Peter started to sit back down, Tony said, "Of _course_ we're here, kid—leave the jacket, we won't need it."

But before Peter could ask any more questions, Tony was already walking out of the jet. Shouldering on his backpack, Peter quickly followed Tony and instantly, a warm breeze met his face. Peter blinked, eyes adjusting to the sudden bright light all around him—not the bright light of buildings or metal, but the bright light of—

"Are we on a beach?" Peter asked, voice hushed as he took in the bright stretch of white sand in front of him, at the laps of turquoise blue water rushing up to meet the shore. He looked down at his feet—they were still on pavement, but if Peter only took a few steps forward, his sneakers would meet the smooth surface of beach.

Peter lifted his head back up at the scene before him. His breath caught at the water—so clear, so _bright_—so strange, especially coming out of the grimier, greyer streets of Queens. There were nice places, of course, in Peter's part of the city, but shiny buildings and run-down delis were a far cry from something as gentle and clean as the sea.

"Never been at the beach before?" Tony asked from somewhere beside Peter.

"No," Peter replied, his grip slowly slackening on his backpack. He somehow managed to force his eyes away from the sea to look at Tony. "Can I…can we…?"

Tony gestured. "Go on," he said, a corner of his lips quirking into a smile. "It's your break."

"I—" Peter grinned. "Thank you, Mr. Stark. Really. Thank you." He kicked off his sneakers and his socks and, throwing down his backpack, he bolted into the sand, relishing in both the heat and the softness of the material against his bare feet. Peter only just got to the bare edge of the shore—just to the edge of where the water slid up to the sand—before turning around and shouting, "Aren't you coming?"

Tony waved a hand nonchalantly, but that wasn't good enough for Peter.

"Come on, Mr. Stark!" Peter shouted, and without waiting for any more protests, he sprinted right back to Tony. "C'mon, c'mon—oops," Peter quickly ducked to the side to avoid spraying any more sand over Tony's shoes. "Let's go!"

"I'm not—"

"Just for a few minutes!" Peter said hurriedly. "C'mon, Mr. Stark, _please_?" He couldn't tell if Tony was actually looking at Peter or looking past him, but after a beat of silence, Tony shrugged his shoulders.

"Fine, kid," Tony said, and it took everything in Peter not to cheer as his mentor took off his shoes.

"Let's go!" Peter repeated, and without warning, he tugged Tony towards the water.

"Wait, wait, wait, Peter—" Tony never got to finish as Peter dragged both himself and Tony into the waves, and all words were lost as the cool seawater rushed up and past their shins.

With a whoop, Peter dove further into the water, not even caring if all his clothes would get wet. Feet still brushing against the sand floor, Peter popped his head out to see Tony still standing near the shin-deep end. "C'mon, Mr. Stark!" Peter called, splashing water Tony's way.

Tony let out a strangled cry in protest as the water found its aim at his face. "Hey—" Tony bent down and sent a small tidal wave of water at Peter.

With a yelp, Peter ducked his head under the water and waited a full two seconds before jumping up with a full-armed splash. "Take that, Mr. Stark!" Peter shouted triumphantly, but Tony only barely dodged the oncoming wave.

"Not so fast!" Tony shouted back, sending up another wave in Peter's direction.

Peter ducked again, only this time emerging closer to Tony—just close enough to send a wave that his mentor couldn't dodge. Fortunately for Peter, Tony _wasn't _able to avoid getting hit face-first with water; unfortunately for Tony, the water also meant toppling him backwards into the waves.

"Sorry!" Peter said gleefully, just narrowly zipping away as Tony started back up on his feet to splash Peter back.

"No, you're not!"

"Yeah, I'm really not," Peter replied, kicking himself out further into the sea. "Thought it was worth giving it a shot, though!" Tilting his head back, Peter eyed the single cloud floating across the sky as he imagined he was probably floating in the sea. Peter let out a contented sigh. Swimming in the sea wasn't like swimming in the chlorine-smelling pools of his school. The water here was cool, for one, but not freezing like his school's, and here, salt—a different kind of salt—burned through Peter's lips and throat, but Peter didn't mind so much. A little bit of throat irritation was a small price to pay for actually being in the middle of some pretty nowhere beach.

Peter closed his eyes. The tips of his toes could only barely brush the sand bottom now, and he felt his clothes starting to weigh him down now, but nothing enough to cause worry. He let himself be dragged down, only to give a small kick to keep himself afloat. Drag down, kick. Drag down, kick. Peter fell into a quiet kind of rhythm as he continued to bob up and down in the sea.

Drag down, kick.

Peter wondered how long Tony and he would stay on the beach.

Drag down, kick.

He privately hoped it wouldn't be for at least another few hours. He couldn't imagine going back to Queens straightaway after this.

Drag down, kick.

Man, Ned and MJ would probably be rolling over in jealousy if they saw Peter now.

Drag down, kick. Drag down, kick. Drag down, kick.

The sun was warm on Peter's face. Another distant breeze swept past his face, ruffled through his semi-damp hair. The breeze didn't carry the smell of the city—no noxious car gas, no cigarette smoke, no skunky weed. Just the breeze. Just the sea.

Just the sea and the sun and Tony and Peter and—

The water closed over Peter's head.

For a second, Peter didn't feel much except for the cool water rushing up to the top of his head. His body slowed down, and though Peter couldn't open his eyes underwater, he could picture his arms slowly extending around him, letting the gentle current move them. His toes brushed the sandy bottom, and slowly, slowly, his feet landed. The sand felt pleasant under Peter's feet, and this time, he imagined a small tornado of white particles forming around his ankles on contact.

But then Peter tried to kick back up to the surface.

His body bobbed upwards only to be dragged quickly back down to the sand.

Peter's body went cold, and this time, it had nothing to do with the water. He tried kicking again, a little harder, but again, his body didn't budge. Then something else flashed through his mind—a river, a sheet tangling his body, kicking, dark water, dark water, dark—

His clothes. They were too heavy for Peter.

_Idiot_, Peter thought, his hands scrambling for his shirt—or at least trying to. Underwater, his movements were painstakingly slow, no air, no speed. He tried to grab at his shirt, but the fabric slipped past his fingers. Peter wished he could open his eyes, but how much would that help?

A sharp pain jabbed at Peter's chest. Something heavy pressed down on him—water, mostly, but the absence of air pressed down harder. Another memory flashed through his mind—a building, rubble, a reflection skipping across a puddle of water, everything dark—

The pain intensified. Peter tried opening his eyes, but the sudden rush of salt forced them back closed. He couldn't see anything, couldn't breathe—_he couldn't breathe_.

Right as Peter's head started to throb, he felt a pair of strong hands yank him up, and then Peter instinctively gasped as air flooded back into his lungs. Someone was shouting in the background, and it took a second for Peter to register that the shouting wasn't coming from the background but actually coming from right next to him.

"You okay? _Peter_?" Peter turned his head weakly to look at Tony. The man's eyes were wide, panicked, and that was also when Peter registered Tony's hands gripping his arms. When Peter managed a small nod, Tony let out a long, frustrated sigh. "I look away for _two seconds_, and this is what happens."

"Sorry," Peter croaked.

Tony only shook his head, dragging Peter back to the shore. The two didn't say anything until finally reaching the sand, and both of them, exhausted, splayed out at the edge of the waves, only their legs now submerged in the water.

"Thanks," Peter breathed, tilting his head just so he could find Tony.

"You have to be careful," Tony replied. He turned to Peter, and again, Peter couldn't help but notice the bags under his mentor's eyes.

"Yeah," Peter managed to say. He bobbed his head up and down in what he hoped was a convincing nod. He slowly lifted his body and with palms now nestled into the sand, Peter repeated, "Sorry, Mr. Stark." He risked a quick glance. "Didn't mean to make you worry about me."

Tony huffed out a small breath, his head tilted back up to the sky. Then, quietly, Tony said, "Nothing's going to keep me from worrying, kid." He looked over at Peter, his gaze softening. "How are you holding up?"

Peter thought about the sudden panic that had seized him as he was sinking underwater. And then he was back in the river, back under the building, back to not being able to breathe.

"Kid?"

Peter forced his eyes away from Tony's face. "Just…" He turned back to the sea. "Being underwater—trapped underwater—reminded me of all the other times of being…trapped." He took in a quick, shuddering breath. "There was this one time, when I was chasing after the Vulture—"

"The building."

Peter whipped his head to Tony. "How did you…"

"You think I wouldn't find out sooner or later?" Tony snorted. "Found a collapsed building coincidentally close to where you fought the Vulture. Also noticed the bruising." Peter winced. He had thought most of his bruises and cuts had been covered up when he saw Tony after the Vulture, but he supposed he wasn't as thorough as he thought.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Tony asked.

"I didn't want you to worry," Peter replied, kicking halfheartedly at the water. "And it was…" He swallowed. "Just hard." In a smaller voice, he added, "I couldn't breathe."

There was a short silence between the two.

Finally, Tony said, "I took away your suit. It could have protected you."

Peter jerked up. "No, Mr. Stark, don't—"

Tony propped himself up on an elbow and rubbing at his face with a hand, he said, "It's true, kid. You could have gotten injured even more badly than you already had—or worse." He looked up at the sky. "I've been making some more re-adjustments to your suit, but sometimes, I swear…" He shook his head. "Just be _careful_."

Peter swallowed hard. "Why'd you actually bring me here, Mr. Stark?" he asked quietly.

Tony looked over at Peter. "Really?" he asked tiredly. "Pepper told me that we needed to get a break."

_We_.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Peter's lips. "Guess so."

"Been a long time, though," Tony said. He kicked at the water, spraying some of the sea at Peter. "Probably for the best."

"Probably," Peter echoed. Then, he asked, "If I promise to be careful, can we go back into the water?"

"If you even _think _about straying too far—"

"I won't," Peter said quickly.

"You better," Tony grumbled as the two stood up, "otherwise I'm telling Pepper no beaches next time."

* * *

**A/N: **This was for Irondad 1000 Feelings on tumblr with the prompt, 'the exhilaration at the first glimpse of the sea'. I wanted to write some kind of beach/summery fic, but then I got emotional. So that's why we've got some light angst. As always, comments are appreciated!


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